


take in some oxygen

by Kiseia



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gentle Sex, I like how that's apparently a common tag, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Jason Todd Has Issues, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, and he WILL dammit, angst or not, fuck i forgot how to tag porn, minor dubcon, my god does he have Issues, only at the very end, roy just wants to make jason feel loved, this is more emotions than porn sorry guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 08:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19764073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiseia/pseuds/Kiseia
Summary: It's not about the past. Jason never drifts when they touch, never looks at Roy while seeing another face dredged up from his memories, but Roy latches onto him anyway. Roy keeps him tethered to the present, anchored to reality while touching him like he is something precious. He's always so careful with him, so kind and considerate to his needs, refusing to be one of the people in his life who've hurt him.Somehow, that's much, much harder for Jason to handle.





	take in some oxygen

**Author's Note:**

> [and lift up your chin; open your ears, and let something in](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=viV6IxEt3Ys)

"Hey," Roy murmurs. His voice is soft, soft and gentle, something that might even be described as tender. "Hey, Jaybird. You with me?"

Warm breath fans across his neck. Jason squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again, forces his breathing to stay steady and even. "Yeah," he says, his voice all tight and rough. "Where else would I be?"

He sounds angry. He always does. Roy doesn't seem to mind, lips trailing over his neck—barely even kissing him, really, just touching. "Wish I knew," he mumbles, still soft like he doesn't want Jason to hear—except they're close. They're so close, and his mouth is right by his ear, and there's no way for Jason to miss what he's saying when he can feel every minute shift of his body.

He pretends not to, anyway. Stares at all the red hair below as Roy kisses his neck, touches him so gently except where he's gripping his arm tight enough that it threatens to bruise, like Jason might float away if he lets him.

Roy shifts beneath him, arching up into his body, and Jason goes all tense, breath catching in his throat. A pause, and Roy almost pulls away, but Jason doesn't let him, sliding his fingers into his hair and cupping the back of his head. Not gripping or tugging, just holding him close. He's already strung tight, nerves running on edge and threatening to burst through his skin, and he doesn't know how he'll react if Roy forces him to look him in the eyes right now.

Maybe he's right. Maybe Jason does need an anchor, because he's latching onto escape routes, cycling through ways to break out of this hold. "Don't," Roy says, reading his thoughts, and nips at his skin, a barely-there graze of his teeth. "Don't run from me, Jason." A shaky breath out. "Come on," he murmurs, softer. "It's me. It's just me."

A shiver runs down his shoulders, and Jason catches it before it reaches his fingers. "Yeah," he says, dipping his head and breathing in the scent of Roy's hair. Bergamot and musk, some fancy shampoo Rose left behind the last time she'd dropped by. It doesn't go with the smell of oil and engine grease that clings to the rest of him like an effervescent halo, but the combination still suits him somehow.

Roy parts his lips, and there's a brief pause like he wants to say something, reassure him, maybe, ask him if he's okay, but Jason handles hostility and aggression far better than he does kindness. By now, Roy knows not to push too much. He just kisses him instead, licks over the tender skin as if in apology, and Jason wants to tell him he doesn't have to. He's had worse, and besides, he heals fast. Hickies rarely last for more than a day on him. Hell, Roy's _given_ him worse, out on the field, while sparring, testing out whichever hare-brained invention he'd come up with this week. He always pushes him to the edge of his limit—his knowledge, his _patience,_ his strength and his stamina. Pushes him in everything but _this,_ and it would be easier if he did. If he touches him like they're fighting instead, scratches at his back until his nails break skin, but he only ever leaves marks from his mouth. Always touches Jason like with that quiet awe and devotion in his eyes like it's a gift somehow, like this is a privilege for _him._

It's like Roy's never looked into a mirror before. Like Jason doesn't have gravedirt clinging beneath his nails. And sometimes it feels like he's back there still, worms nesting in his bones, maggots eating away at his putrefied flesh, but Roy keeps pulling him up. Breathes life back into him with every kiss, kneads warmth back into his flesh with every touch, like it doesn't seem to occur to him that one day Jason might drag him down instead.

"Roy," he whispers, and Roy makes a soft sound, pushing his hips up until they're pressing together .

"God," he breathes, and Jason lunges forward and kisses him because he can't _stand_ it, because he can't think of anything aside from how much he needs him right now.

Roy makes a soft, shocked noise but immediately melts into his touch, and the show of trust almost has Jason jumping out of his bones. It should be _easy._ Should be something familiar to him that he's done countless times before, but with Roy, every touch feels new. He can't—

"Hey." Roy cups his face, breathing against his lips. Only then does Jason realize he's frozen in place, that somewhere along the last minute he'd stopped moving. "Look at me?"

For a moment Jason resists, glancing off to the side, and then, haltingly, he looks up.

Night had fallen some time ago. The lights are off, but there's enough ambient light spilling through the windows that he doesn't have to strain in order to see. Roy's pupils are blowing so wide that they've completely swallowed the green of his iris, hair falling in disarray around his head like a wild halo. He dips forward, leaning their heads together, and this close Jason can see each individual lash dropping over his eyes. There's pity there, but it's drowned out by a steady focus that Jason leans into like a sapling starving for light, seeking refuge from the storm of his own chaotic thoughts.

"You're okay, Jaybird," he says, with such easy conviction that it's impossible not to believe him. "You're okay."

Jason hasn't relaxed. "I know," he says, forcing the words out from the vice that's clamping his lungs.

Roy kisses him, soft, almost chaste, a lingering brush of his lips. "Stay with me, alright?"

"Shut up," Jason snaps, an instinctive rebuttal to any overt show of kindness, but Roy just hums and strokes over his skin. He's still holding on to him and it should feel like a trap, but it feels like a lightning rod keeping him grounded. It doesn't help him relax, but Jason forces himself to, anyway, forces his tense muscles pliant like he's learning how to take a hit. Before Roy can call him out on it, or push more, he reaches down and cups him through his sweats.

A startled groan. Roy pulls back even as he's arching into his touch, hard and hot beneath his hands. "Jason—"

"Up," Jason tells him, tugging at the waistband of his sweats, and, Roy lifts his hips, instinctively obeying the command in his voice despite the worried look he sends him. Jason ignores him, pulling his pants and his boxers down and watching as he springs up, hard and dripping, and the sight makes Jason strain against his jeans. Absently, he squeezes his own cock just to stave off some of the aching pressure, and he hears Roy's breathing stutter, his cock twitch as more precum dribbles down the thick shaft.

"Let go of me," he tells him, tugging on his arm.

"What?" Roy asks, sounding dazed.

Jason looks up from beneath his lashes, smirking in a way that he knows gives him that edge of danger that Roy likes so much. "Let go of my arm so I can suck your cock, Harper."

"Fucking _hell,_ Jay," Roy hisses. A shudder runs through him, hips twitching up, and his nails almost bite into Jason's arm before pulling back. "Are—are you sure?"

Jason rolls his eyes. "You want me to make you a pinky promise?"

Reluctantly, Roy lets go, though he's still looking at him with some trepidation that Jason is going to pointedly ignore. "Well, no, but…"

In one smooth motion, Jason slides off his lap and lands between his legs. Roy trails off, throat bobbing in a swallow. "Stop thinking," Jason tells him, leaning forward and letting his breath wash over him. Fuck, he can _smell_ him, musky and bitter with the salty tang of sweat. His hands settle on his spread thighs, and if they inch just a little higher he knows he'll be able to feel Roy's pulse hammering beneath the thin skin of his hips.

"Shouldn't I be telling _you_ that _—_ oh, Jesus," his head falls back against the couch, hips twitching as Jason bobs his head. "Fucking— _Jason."_

A hand falls on his hair, and Jason pulls back, nostrils flaring as he sucks down a deep breath before sinking back down. Roy's not as big as him, but he's not exactly small, either, and fuck, _fuck,_ this is going to his head. Even now, Roy is careful not to hurt him, brushing through his hair with trembling fingers but never gripping, never pulling, and Jason wishes that he _would._ Wishes he would treat him rough the way he does when they're sparring because he knows Jason can take it. Because Jason _knows_ pain, and it's never been about his pleasure before, and at least then it'll be something familiar.

He doesn't know what to do with _this._ Roy curling above him, inside him, gasping out praise as he trembles and shakes and touches him like he's something precious. Not fragile, not delicate, but precious all the same, and it's funny how he's so adamant about not hurting him when every gentle touch feels like it's flaying him open. And he's good at this, Jason knows he's good at this, but it feels different, somehow, when it's Roy who's saying it.

It should be about Roy. It should be about his pleasure, his release, but every short gasp sends a frisson of heat shooting between his legs. Jason is straining so hard that it's starting to hurt, stubbornly refusing to touch himself as he pulls back slightly and swallows around him, and Roy whimpers, clutching at him like he'll break if he lets himself go. "Jason," he breathes, " _baby,_ you're going to make me come—"

He makes him so _hungry._ Turns Jason into a slavering, mindless beast that wants him, wants Roy, wants his love and his passion and whatever the fuck else he'll give him. Wants to make him shake and tremble and break the way he's doing now, twisting the collar of his shirt and groaning as he comes like liquid fire down his throat.

"Jason," he breathes, pulling him off, and Jason stares at him, so full of that desperate hunger that he's scared to move. "Fuck, come here," and Roy is pulling him back onto his lap, and he wants—he wants—

Roy kisses him, and Jason clutches at him, drinking him in like's starving. He's not gentle like Roy, grabbing his hair and pulling him close, nails digging into his neck, scraping his tongue with his teeth when it slides into his mouth, but Roy doesn't seem to mind, pawing at his fly with fingers that are still trembling slightly from exertion. And it's almost on the tip of Jason's tongue to tell him that it's okay, he doesn't have to—but his mouth is on his and he's pulling on the zipper and he's tugging down on his jeans and his boxers and his hand is on him, _fuck._

Jason grabs his wrist, and Roy stills his hand, kisses up along his jaw while Jason pants and tries to decide whether to pull it away or keep it there _._ "Darling, that's perfect, you're perfect," Roy murmurs, right next to his ear, and it's not true, of course it's not, but his voice is warm and soft and thrumming with desire like he means it. "Let me touch you? Please?" He kisses the soft part behind his ear, breath still heavy and rough. "Please," he whispers, again, and there's a desperate edge to his tone like he needs this, too, needs this as much as Jason does. "Swear I'll make it good for you, Jaybird—god, I just want you so damn bad—"

Jason turns, bites at his neck. "Shut up and just," he snarls, pushing himself into Roy's hand. Of course it'll be good, Roy always makes it good—that's the fucking _problem._

Roy tilts his head to give him more room, his hand finally starting to move again. He touches him, slow, focusing on the head and going lower with each pass, slicking his shaft with his own precum. Exactly like the way Jason was sucking him off, and the thought brings back the sense memory of Roy resting heavy on his tongue. He can still taste him in his mouth—probably will be for the rest of the day, and the thought makes him throb, makes him bite back a groan as he sucks another hickey onto Roy's neck to try and distract himself. It doesn't work—his world is narrowing down to Roy, his scent and his taste and his voice murmuring reassurance and praise, his hand on his cock expertly working him higher and higher. He's dizzy with it, dizzy from the adrenaline dumping in his blood, fight or flight kicking in from his flushed skin, his short breaths, his heart jumping like it's trying to escape his chest, except this time he's not in danger, and fuck, it's so _good._

It's so goddamn good he can't think of anything except for how good it is. Can't focus on anything except Roy's hand speeding up faster, bringing him closer to the edge with every frantic tug. Roy is burning beneath him, burning hot between his legs like a miniature sun, and Jason wants to push him down onto the couch, suck the air right out of his lungs until he's choking on smoke. Taste all of that light, that fire, make it all _his_ until it threatens to sear him alive, and god, he just—he wants him, he wants _him_ with such an animalistic drive that it threatens to overwhelm him. Wants anything, _everything_ that he can give him. It's just a handjob, but it's _Roy,_ Roy tugging at his hair, breathlessly saying, "Jason, Jason, look at me, I want to see you when you come—"

Pleasure slams into him like a deluge. It leaves Jason gasping from the force of it, every nerve bursting into static. It doesn't feel like a release—feels like he's being ripped open instead, every synapse falling beyond his grasping hands. And _fuck_ it's good, it _is,_ but it feels like he's a passenger in his own body, like he has no control over himself, and every burst of pleasure makes him feel so damn helpless.

Roy is there to catch him when he falls, stroking him through the aftershocks. He holds him close, doesn't seem to mind the fact that Jason is still clamping down on his arm, squeezing like he wants to break his bones. There's white noise buzzing in his ear, buzzing beneath his skin like a swarm of ants trying to crawl their way out, and he opens his eyes, blinks away the fuzziness swimming in his vision. Gradually, the world shifts back into focus and he lets go of Roy, staring down at the bruise left on his arm in the shape of Jason's handprint before it moves out of his vision.

For a moment it's quiet. Roy shifts beneath him, pulling his hand out of his pants and wiping it off on a grease-stained towel hanging from the back of the couch. His arm comes back, wraps around him, other hand combing through his hair, and Jason closes his eyes, listening to the sound of his breathing.

"You good, Jaybird?" Roy asks, breaking the silence.

"Peachy," Jason rasps, despite the fact that he's still tense, still resisting the post-orgasmic pull.

Roy doesn't call him out on it, thankfully, just keeps combing his fingers through his hair, and despite himself, Jason finds himself falling into him, matching the steady in-out of his breathing. It feels fitting, because somewhere along the way Roy became his constant, his harbor, the star that he revolves around, and Jason has no one to blame but himself.

He knows what Roy thinks. Roy knows about the lengths he'd had to go to in order to survive before Bruce plucked him off the streets, except that's not _it._ The things that hurt Jason the most never were physical, and turning tricks only required selling his body. Pain is familiar; Bruce was not the one to teach him how to take a hit. Even before meeting him, Jason knew how to separate his mind from his body, how to push past the signals telling him to stop and step back.

It's not about pain. It's about pleasure, and how the world only ever lets him feel good so that it hurts more when it gets taken away. And Jason wants to hate Roy, sometimes, for how good he makes him feel, because he can't even bring himself to wish that none of this ever happened. He's so fucking _perfect._ He's everything Jason can want.

Whenever he leaves, Jason thinks it might actually break him for good.

And how… how the fuck do you even bring that up. No, I'm not mistaking you for anyone else, yeah, sorry, it's not me, it's you, except it is him, it's Jason and his stupid issues ruining any chance at happiness that he might have. How fucked up do you even have to _be_ when it's pleasure that sets off warning bells? He should tell Roy to stop wasting his time. Pack up and not bother with getting his heart broken all over again, because it's the only thing that Jason can do anymore. Roy doesn't break; he builds, looks at junk and scrap metal and turns it into something better. Whichever part of Jason capable of doing the same died when he did, the first time. Now, he only knows how to tear down the parts of the world that are already broken and ugly.

Roy should be in the light with all of the other heroes. Instead, he's here. He's here with Jason, dragging around in the muck, and Jason is greedy and selfish and he never could learn how to let anything go. 

He's here.

He's _here._

It has to count for something.

"This 's nice," Roy mumbles, fingers coming to a stop at the nape of his neck.

Jason hums in affirmation. Yeah, it is nice.

That's exactly the fucking issue. 


End file.
